"I'll do it." Before Gavin knew what she intended, Lady Draven stood and collected the letters.
"The hell you will." Kent rose and glowered at her.
"I don't require your permission, Mr. Kent," she said, tucking the letters in her reticule.
Morgan frowned. "This is far too dangerous—"
"Black may be dangerous, but he is just a man. We all have our expertise, and mine happens to be the opposite sex. Do you doubt that I am well equipped to deal with Black—or any male for that matter?"
A derisive smile edged the blonde's lips, as if challenging them to deny her attractions. With her classical beauty, Lady Draven was no doubt accounted as an out and out stunner by most men—though, to Gavin's mind, she couldn't hold a candle to Percy. Then again, every woman paled next to his goddess… his fists curled. If Magnus and Kingsley harmed even a hair on Percy's head, he would tear their heads off.
"Lady Draven has a point," he said. "She has a better chance of getting an audience with Black than any of us. If nothing else, he'll see her out of curiosity."
"Out of the question," Kent snapped.
"I ask you to reconsider, my lady. Helena would have my head if anything happened to you," Morgan said.
"You do your part, I'll do mine," she said, sounding amused. "See you at midnight."
Lady Draven headed to the door, only to be blocked by Kent. He grabbed hold of her arm. "This has gone far enough," he said.
"No man touches me without my permission." Color flooded Lady Draven's high cheekbones, her emerald eyes flashing. "Release me this instant."
"Not until you give up this asinine plan."
"I saidrelease me." In a swift movement, the baroness withdrew a delicate pistol from her skirts. She pointed it at Kent's heart.
The policeman did not budge. The baroness' eyes narrowed, her finger upon the trigger.
"Stand down, Kent. You cannot stop her, and obviously she can take care of herself," Morgan said wryly. "Perhaps Lady Draven would agree to take a few men as escorts?"
Lady Draven continued to glare at Kent, who released her with obvious reluctance.
"Men are the last thing I need," she said icily. "I can take care of myself." With that, she vanished out the door in a swish of silver skirts.
In the tense silence that followed, Gavin said, "That covers it. I'll ready my men. Morgan, I suppose you'll take the water route with Kent?"
"No." The marquess regarded him with a steady gaze. "I'm going in with you."
38
Under the clouded midnight sky,Watson's Blacking Factory rose three stories, a crooked narrow building that bore an eerie resemblance to Grimes' flash house. The memory of that cesspit had branded Gavin though he'd lived there but a handful of days. He slid a look at his companion, who'd survived years in that place. From the stark lines on Morgan's face to his guarded posture, the man looked prepared to battle the demons of hell.
"You ready?" Gavin said in a low voice.
Morgan gave a terse nod. "Let's go in."
They entered through a creaking door. Long tables and benches lined the rectangular room. A single lamp sat upon one of the tables, releasing ghostly forms across the rotting pillars and beams and the wooden steps that led upward into darkness. Dim shapes piled high against the walls—equipment once used to make the blacking. The corrosive scent of sulfur and linseed oil permeated the air, glass from broken jars crunching beneath their boots. Something scampered across the floorboard, and Morgan flinched.
"Gentlemen, welcome." A few feet away, Kingsley parted from the shadows, his pistol glinting in the lamplight. When Gavin reached instinctively for his weapon, the bastard cocked the trigger. "Slowly now. Unless you want to get that pretty piece of yours killed."
Gavin froze as the rasp of matches came from above. Lamps flared to life, revealing the men lining the first floor banister; all aimed pistols at him and Morgan. His pulse leapt at the sight of Percy. Despite her disheveled hair and the cloth gag wrapped around her mouth, she appeared otherwise unharmed, Praise God. Her gaze met his, and she began to struggle with the brute holding her by the arm.
"Let her go." Gavin started for the stairs.
"Not so fast, Hunt." The click of Kingsley's pistol halted him. "You may not care if you die—but do you want to see her throat slit?"
On the floor above, Percy's captor raised a blade to her neck.
